Unholy Flame
by Uncharted Power
Summary: A change in the perception of an event can change people. Harry learned of magic early. Following introduction to the wizarding world, Harry is rather unnerved. AU. Bitter Harry. Rewritten version of my previous story, which I found lacking.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would be a female, for one.

_A/N:_ This is a rewrite of my previous story. I wrote it when I was going through a bad time in my life, and so I lost inspiration. My interest has been rekindled, but it'd be best if I started fresh.

_Summary: Harry Potter has powers. He's known since he "magically" grew his hair back. Curiosity leads to stumbling across the magical world, and Harry is not pleased. AU._

_Prologue_

"Sit still, boy!" Petunia shrieked, her dislike of the boy before her evident with every syllable.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia." Harry replied hastily, quite frightened. His Aunt and Uncle didn't beat him too much, but when they did, it hurt. He didn't want to jeopardize his luck by telling her exactly how he felt about her.

Several minutes passed, until Petunia and scurried off, indicating the haircut was done. Harry could tell she wanted to be as far from him as physically possible.

Dejectedly, Harry went to the bathroom to see how his new haircut looked. Upon sight, he was horrified. He had no hair. No sign of his unruly black hair.

'I'll get beat up even more at school even more now. Thanks for nothing, you fuc-–'

Harry's train of thought was interrupted by a loud slam. Uncle Vernon was home. Following his initial shock, dread crept its way to his stomach. He always felt unbridled fear when Vernon arrived home, because his mood depended heavily on his day at work, and a bad day for Vernon meant a lot of bruises to Harry.

He exited the bathroom and walked quickly down the stairs. He couldn't see Vernon. Maybe he had left... His train of thought was once again interrupted, but by the sound of laughter. Swiftly turning around, he spotted Vernon. Vernon was on his knees, cheeks a deep red as he laughed himself silly at Harry's haircut. Harry wasn't sure whether he was relieved or scared. Probably some mixture of both.

"May I go to my cupboard, sir?"

"Go right ahead, boy. Hee hee..." Vernon said, still chortling at the very sight of Harry.

Harry sighed. At least he had caught him in a good mood.

Entering the cobweb ridden cupboard that had become his bedroom of sorts, he propped himself onto the floor. He could never defend himself at all from them, and there seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel. He couldn't survive this forever.

Harry continued thinking of how he badly he would be ridiculed the next day until sleep gave way.

Unknown to any of the residents of Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry's body became cloaked in a harsh, golden light...

_**Unholy Flames**_

Harry woke up feeling quite rested. Unnaturally rested.

Dismissing it, Harry rushed to the shower and quickly bathed and clothed himself. He then sped to the kitchen to cook the Dursleys' breakfast. He didn't want to think of what would happen if he was too slow.

Half hour later, the Dursleys' arrived to the kitchen, all fully dressed for their day. They sat themselves and gorged themselves with the food. Harry had eaten his own measly breakfast of a piece of bread, and so he headed out to go off to school.

He couldn't stop thinking about how much more he would be teased. He arrived to his school in a daze, and noticed no one spared him a second glance, so he reached a hand out to his scalp. There was thick hair, but it had been slicked back to fall down the nape of his neck.

'How the bloody hell could I have missed that? That's impossible!'

Try as he might, he couldn't come up with a rational argument. He could only assume he had unknowingly entered himself in some cult, and received superpowers (yeah, right). He decided to confront the Dursleys about it. He doubted he would be punished for asking a harmless question.

After school, he found Petunia in the living room watching a soap while the smell of roast beef engulfed the house, Uncle Vernon's favorite. He decided to simply get the question of his chest.

"Aunt Petunia? I need to ask you a question." Harry inquired.

"Ask quickly, boy. I don't have all day." Petunia snapped, her direct attention still at the soap opera on TV.

He took a deep breath and asked "Am I magic?"

Guarded blue eyes locked with curious green eyes. He hadn't thought he would illicit any reaction.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Though she attempted to seem mildly interested, he had known her long enough to know she was surprised, and not pleasantly surprised.

"Well, as I'm sure you remember, you gave me a haircut yesterday," Harry said, gesturing towards his black hair, which had grown surprisingly more tame, but still had the air of unruliness it had in the past. "I can't seem to think of a way it grew back yesterday besides magic."

"Go to your cupboard," Petunia bellowed, her blue eyes shining in outrage. " I don't want to see you!"

Something clicked in Harry's head. Why would she have such a violent reaction to magic? Now that he thought of it, that might explain why she always called him a freak. He decided to bluff, and hoped he would not die today.

"You might prefer not to tell Vernon," Harry said, voice now cold. "I think we both know that if you hate magic, he must loath it. This conversation will stay between us, hmm? Or I think my magic will utterly destroy you."

Petunia was too shocked by the idea of Harry sticking up for himself to give any gesture that could be identified as affirmative or negative. She didn't say a word, even as Harry slammed the door to his cupboard shut. Harry took that as a yes.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Unholy Flames**_

_Summary: Harry Potter has powers. He's known since he "magically" grew his hair back. Curiosity leads to stumbling across the magical world, and Harry is not pleased. AU._

_Chapter 1: Learning_

Across the span of several weeks, Harry found that, to his frustration, he couldn't seem to call out to his magic consciously. In desperation, he had even resorted to stabbing himself and quickly drugging himself to fall asleep. He had woken with a healed, albeit sore hand.

"What's missing? Why can't I use it?" he muttered to himself. He had been patient for weeks. Now he wanted a taste of that power. No, he _deserved_ his birthright.

Determined, he rose from the putrid cupboard floor, and opened the door. He quietly slipped outside. He found that after his talk(more like threat) to Petunia on magic, she had started giving him more liberties. He could now go outside for reasons other than school or grocery shopping, plus he had a part time job doing chores for the people in the neighborhood, which payed well due to Privet Drive consisting of primarily upper class citizens.

He walked aimlessly through the streets. The sky was a vibrant forget-me-not blue, and he could feel the sun blaring on his skin. To Harry, it felt like a boring summer day, though he supposed if his social skills weren't so stunted, he probably would have been with friends having the time of his life. After a while of just strolling, he walked by the yoga center, and marveled at what he saw. They were in a state of deep meditation. That was a likely way to tap into his inner magic!

He was going to meditate, Harry decided. He was wearing black sweatpants and a red t shirt, which was comfortable enough. The only real question was where. The Dursleys' household was much too loud, and they would probably kill him in his vulnerable state. He couldn't picture himself doing it in a public environment, where he would most likely be openly laughed at, which he wasn't particularly fond of. He had to find a private place, a place he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

Harry walked, once again aimlessly, but now he intended to leave town. After about four hours of what felt like nonstop walking, Harry found an abandoned clearing with a DO NOT ENTER sign posted legibly on the gate. There wasn't any sign of life for miles. Confirming he was carrying the pocketknife he had nicked from Dudley, he climbed the gate clumsily and hopped off once his feet were on solid metal. He landed rather hard, and looked around to make sure no one was around.

He investigated the area itself. It was completely abandoned and probably had been for years.

It was perfect.

He was still skeptical, and more than a bit paranoid, so he remained there until nightfall. When verifying that no homeless person had made this their home, he headed to his home, or at least the place where he slept at night.

'I'll be back.' was Harry's only thought as he headed home.

_**Unholy Flames**_

A few days later, Harry returned to the clearing at noon, having left the Dursley residence at about dawn. His emerald eyes shining with determination, he made himself comfortable and imagined a raging blue ocean. After a while, when he started to doubt that there was such a thing as magic, the water turned a brilliant gold. Or so Harry thought, until he realized this must be his magic.

He had expected it to be some kind of core or heart, like most books he read; rather, it spread throughout his body almost like golden mist, not unlike the way blood is circulates through the body. He had carried his suspicions for almost a month now, but he still couldn't believe it. He was truthfully a magician.

As he explored the depths of magic longer and longer, he couldn't help but _admire _the ingenuity of it. The magic flowed like blood, meaning every part of his body was magically charged, and was easily controllable from within. He had to remember this... sensation so he could repeat it outside this ethereal landscape.

The gold mist was his blood, and the pale orange ball of mist from which it protruded was likely the heart. He basically had a secret immune system, exclusively for his magic. Idly, he wondered if there was a science dedicated to studying it. It would be very interesting.

His core was _large_ however, and he wouldn't hesitate to let it go to his head, this being the single best moment in his otherwise miserable life so far.

He suddenly felt a sneaking suspicion he had overstayed his welcome and grudgingly left the golden landscape. He could return any other day; after all, summer vacation had started a week before. Upon returning to reality, Harry checked his second watch, one that Dudley had believed was hopelessly broken. Harry, desperate to have something to call his own, had spent all night fixing it.

To his surprise, it was pretty late into the day, almost nightfall by the looks of the rapidly darkening sky. He had to head home, never mind no dinner; he would simply buy some on the way home thanks to his new job.

He had made a discovery. Once he had more advanced magic at his fingertips, the old Harry could kiss his life goodbye. Harry didn't realize in his thoughts that the old Harry had died a month ago, when he had first confronted Petunia, and a new Harry was steadily taking his place, this one with more confidence and the knowledge of magic. He was the only one with this gift, and he'd be damned if he let it go to waste.

_**Unholy Flames**_

The summer vacation was slowly coming to an end, Harry reflected upon sullenly. He didn't want to go to Stonewall. The kids there were egoistical teenage creeps that scared him multiple times more than his primary school bullies. Growing up underprivileged had taught Harry to look after himself. He put himself before anything. He wasn't arrogant per se, but his own life had become his primary concern, especially when it was in danger of ending at least once a week.

"Boy, get the mail." The impatient voice snapped Harry out of his trance. He really didn't want to go to Stonewall. He was smarter than that. His excellent grades could vouch for him.

Sighing, the aspiring young magician lifted himself from his chair, left the dining room, and went to the door to retrieve the mail. Harry took pleasure in knowing who mailed the Dursleys', for future blackmail, but he was surprised to see a letter addressed to him. He shoved it unceremoniously into his pockets, which due to being too large for him (Dudley's castoffs) fit an envelope just fine. He returned to the dining room, dropped the mail on the table, grabbed his tattered brown bookbag, and left the house. He didn't stay indoors very much anymore, as he could only use magic outside and had made several 'friends' in the neighborhood.

That isn't to say he was attached to these 'friends'. They were just people whom he found interesting and sometimes spent the day with. It was better than just lounging around all day. He had an abundance of money from lawn mowing and baby sitting, so he was respected in the neighborhood and had quite a bit of pocket money. Most of it was saved up in case he wanted something later. The only thing he had bought aside from food was an MP3 player and a pair of green headphones, which he frequently used to keep himself calm, and more importantly, not hear other people. He was deeply cynical by now, and wasn't exactly a social genius.

In the meantime, he felt like returning to the clearing to read the letter he received. He had grown quite adept at getting to the clearing quicker by constantly jogging there, which had made him physically stronger.

"Alleyoop" he said as he jumped off the familiar gate.

He looked at the letter. It said:

First-year students will require:

Uniform

Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)

One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear

One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

**One set of hydra hide goggles**

Please note that all student's clothes should carry name-tags.

Books

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble

_**Ritual Magic: Level 1 by Wanda Goodwing**_

_**Introduction to Dueling by Thomas Barluis II**_

Other Equipment

1 Wand

1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring a Owl OR a Cat OR a Toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Owl your reply.

What kind of bullshit was this? _Owl your reply?_ It didn't make sense.

Fake. It must be fake.

'I would have believed magic was fake too...' Harry mentally reasoned.

As if on cue, a caramel brown owl descended onto the clearing.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" He said, glaring daggers at the owl, who looked at him expectantly.

Growling softly, he reached into his pack and took out a pen and paper. He wrote a hasty reply and gave it to the owl.

"Fuck off, okay?" he said, smiling innocently.

He watched the owl go off. Fucking cultists.

_**Unholy Flames**_

Back at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall was enjoying her first significant break of the summer. Most of every day she was guiding first years or preparing for the next year's curriculum, which was largely different from the previous years due to a large number of the Ministry being changed.

Imagine her unpleasant surprise when she saw one of the school owls descending upon her office. She sighed and sat up. Even on August 20th, she still had work to do.

"Dear lord..." she grumbled, getting up.

She took the letter from the owl, and gave the owl a cracker, which it happily accepted. Upon seeing the name on the letter she opened it with haste and excitement.

_Dear Mister or Miss,_

_I require a bit more than a simple letter if I'm going to believe you aren't a radical pagan cult like the ones that have been appearing on the news lately. Honestly, it would do you people well to be more informative and detailed in your letters if you truly want people to attend your academy, assuming this isn't fraudulent._

_Respectfully,_

_Harry James Potter_

"H-He's unaware of his heritage? That manipulative old coot! I thought we had him in the wizarding world under some new name so as to protect him from the remaining Death Eaters!" she said to no one in particular.

The pagan cult he had mentioned she assumed were Death Eaters. How wrong she was.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Unholy Flames**_

_Summary: Harry Potter has powers. He's known since he "magically" grew his hair back. Curiosity leads to stumbling across the magical world, and Harry is not pleased. AU._

_Chapter 2: Diagon Alley_

Harry sat up, feeling that he had probably harmonized with his magic enough for a day. Stretching his legs, he briefly pondered on the letter he had received early that morning. Should he be wary of being followed? Was he going to be inducted into a cult? Only time would tell.

"I'm tired." He stated, stifling a yawn with the back of hand.

Just then, the leaves on the clearing floor became swept from their dormant places on the ground. Harry stared, perplexed, as he made out a female figure in the wind. Maybe it was his overactive paranoia?

"Hello, Harry." the woman said.

Instantly, Harry slid his pocketknife into his palm, his muscles tensing as he did so. He certainly didn't want to go down here, god knows how far from civilization.

"Who are you? And how the bloody hell do you know my name?" Harry said in a shaky tone, but inside he was ready to kill to stay alive.

The figure moved forward, and Harry could now make out a woman with graying auburn hair in a tight bun and wearing _robes_, of all things.

Chuckling softly at his hasty questions, she replied, "My name is Professor McGonagall, and not only are you enrolled in Hogwarts School, but I taught your parents as well."

He didn't twitch, keeping a careful eye on her. He kept the pocketknife stealthily concealed in his palm.

"Could you prove magic exist, Professor?" he said congenially, but inside he was apprehensive. The cultists he had seen mentioned on TV would do _anything _to get their way.

"Certainly." She drew a wand from a pocket on her black robes, which Harry found very ill suited for the terrain, considering how hot it was. She _summoned _a chair, and moved her wand in a circular motion before saying "_Incendia! _". The chair rapidly caught fire, and he could feel the heat on his skin, before she flicked her wand and it was gone.

"Is that enough proof, Harry?" she said kindly.

He could only nod dumbly in amazement. They were more like him. Now he would be able to find his true potential.

"Is there a society of magical people?" he babbled excitedly.

"Yes. Didn't your aunt tell you anything about magic?"

"Only that it isn't real." he whispered bitterly. He really hated the Dursleys'.

"Perk up," she said, sensing his sudden change in demeanor. "We can fetch your supplies now, if you'd like."

Inspecting his watch, he was surprised to see it was pretty early in the afternoon. Usually his meditation took longer. He had plenty of time, since the Dursleys' gave him unlimited time outdoors anyway, out of fear of what he would do to them.

"Sure!" he exclaimed.

_**Unholy Flames**_

Harry still couldn't believe his eyes. It turned out he had a massive fortune left by his parents, to the point where he might never have to work. He had taken a hefty amount of the gold coins, but had also taken some the others, as McGonagall had insisted they were just as important. He couldn't help but agree. After, the pound was nothing without the pence, so the galleon couldn't be anything without the knut.

Harry and McGonagall had split up. She had gone to get his items such as protective gloves for potions and herbology while he went to get his robes.

He sat on the stool and impatiently waited for the lady to get him fitted. He had a lot of plans now, and he knew he would have to act quick. Hogwarts would start in a week. He was brought out of his pondering by a rather sullen looking boy with blonde hair and silver eyes with some blue mixed in.

"A-Are you going to Hogwarts as well, then?" the boy asked softly. Harry had to strain to hear him.

"Er... Yeah. Uh, yeah I am." Way to make a good first impression. Way to go.

"I apologize, I'm not really familiar with Britain. I grew up in America, but my parents moved here a couple of months ago and I'm still getting used to it." he said. He seemed like he might have been shy, if it wasn't for that gaunt look in his eyes. It was extremely unnerving.

"You're done, Mr. Snape." a feminine voice said from the front of the small shop.

"Well, I should get going. It was a pleasure meeting you, ah-"

"Harry." he said extending a hand. "Harry Potter."

The boy's eyes widened before he realized why he was sharing farewells, and he looked like he was going to say something. He must have ignored the compulsion, because he sped off.

'What a weird kid', Harry thought to himself. 'Well, whatever. My fitter is here.'

_**Unholy Flames**_

Walking idly through the magical streets far from Diagon Alley, Harry found an abandoned-looking shop. He entered, thinking this might be what he was looking for. He had wasted the majority of his day looking for a store that sold antiques that might scope some of what he was looking for.

He pulled the door, and it didn't budge. His eyes flicked towards to the door, and to his embarrassment, the sign said PUSH. His face flushed, and pushed the door open. He hated when that happened.

The store had a musty smell, one that oddly enough reminded him of his cupboard. He began to browse, his eyes absorbing every little detail it could make out of any items he stumbled upon.

"Please be the one." He consistently muttered under his breath. He was tired of walking around aimlessly.

"Looking for something?" a confident, mocking voice said from behind him. Harry turned around, and his hand itched towards his back pocket, where he kept his pocketknife.

"N-Nothing in particular... Are you the owner, then?" Harry said carefully, not desiring to insult the man when he was so close, so close to getting something a little new.

"Why, yes, yes I am. Just browsing, then? What's your budget?" This man was certainly polite. Polite enough to trip every one of Harry's inner alarms, which he found never steered him wrong.

"Pretty high actually. Inheritance and all."

"Well then, come with me. I think I have something that should be of interest to you." the man said shrewdly, his eyes daring him to disagree.

Harry conceded, and followed the man to his counter. The man pulled out two sets of relatively short throwing knives and a.. wand holster? Who was this man?

"Now Harry, the blades have been forged by some of my goblin friends, and therefore have spells on them. Some of the spells are magical flexibility, meaning it can conduct magic well, just like metal conducts electricity. I'm selling for either 300 galleons or 700 pounds. There are around 100 knives in total. It's your choice."

The blades were a pale white, and had the appearance of a scalpel, but Harry could tell how dangerous these could be in the wrong hands. Such as his.

Harry shook his head and said, "How do you know who I am? And how exactly am I going to go around carrying 100 bloody knives? That would just plain be uncomfortable and so easy to spot."

The man smiled, and Harry shuddered. There was something being hidden in the facade of tranquility, and Harry didn't like it one bit. It just added to the list of disturbing things he had seen or experienced this year alone.

"Like I said, Harry, there are spells. Another is a mental summoning. It only exists in goblin magic, sadly, and it means you summon them when you need them. That's why they are so expensive."

"...I'll take it, I guess." Harry said, laying more than a handful of gold coins on the counter. The man carefully counted the coins, and as he did, Harry noticed with growing apprehension that the man's nails were long and claw-like. He hadn't noticed the man very much because the man wore dark sunglasses, which were characteristic for the sunny weather, and wore the cap of a popular sports team.

"And the wand holster goes on your arm. It can summon your wand from everywhere. For you, 40 galleons."

"How much is it normally?" Harry said, a smile creeping on his face despite himself.

The man grinned ferally back. "75. I see you know business."

"I'll take it too. But... what the hell are you? You talk just like old man Ollivander, except he didn't talk prices like you do." Harry said curiously, his eyes subconsciously searching for a shift in body language.

"Ah, Ollivander. That takes me back. And as to what I am, I don't know myself. Just call me Veni." the man said, winking.

The man slid Harry's items down the counter. Harry took them and placed them inside his pack. He then proceeded to leave.

'Hogwarts tomorrow.' was all he thought about.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Unholy Flames**_

_Summary: Harry Potter has powers. He's known since he "magically" grew his hair back. Curiosity leads to stumbling across the magical world, and Harry is not pleased. AU._

**A/N:** Forgot to mention, in this world, Dumbledore is just a powerful old man. Harry vanquished Grindelwald, and Voldemort rules Britain as of now, possibly forever.

_Chapter 3: Hogwarts_

Humming to himself, trunk in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, was Harry, looking for all the world excited. Finally, he could learn magic for real. There was only so much you could learn self-taught and unsure of what you were even dabbling with. His trademark green headphones were blasting heavy metal at an ungodly sound.

Harry's good mood quickly evaporated. McGonagall had neglected to tell him how to get to Platform 9 ¾, and he couldn't exactly ask the nonmagicals (he refused to call them muggles, as that sounded awfully bigoted); he'd be labeled a madman and sent to a mental institute. Harry downed the remainder of his coffee in a few gulps, and while more alert now, he was infinitely more stressed.

"Oh my god..." he groaned. He really had wanted to go to a magic school. He had gotten worked up for what now seemed like nothing.

Still, he drifted around Platform 9 and Platform 10 aimlessly, subconsciously hoping the answer would just come to him. Tired, he went toward the wall separating Platform 9 and Platform 10, and leaned. His heart sunk as he felt himself go through.

Harry took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on. He wasn't mistaken. The sign no longer said Platform 9. It now proudly bore the name Platform 9 ¾ in bright red letters, as if daring anyone to think otherwise. Moving towards the red train, he spotted a blonde boy looking quite glum walk into the train. It was the strange boy from Madame Malkins, Harry realized. He ran towards the train.

"Oyo! Snape!"

Aiden spun around with such speed that Harry was taken aback. Why would he have such a averse reaction to having his name called? Harry dismissed the thought as Aiden spoke.

"Yes? Oh, it's you. Harry Potter, right? Boy-Who-Lived?" Aiden said, no contempt in his soft, cordial voice.

"Yeah, sure, why not," Harry offered. "Let's find a compartment before we run out of free seats. I do not want to end up sitting to a complete moron for the entire train ride."

Aiden did not reply, and just walked on ahead. Harry looked at him, and followed. He had no idea why the boy talked so little. He had thought people loved to talk about themselves. They finally found a compartment in a small, neglected corner.

"Do you like Quidditch?" Harry inquired once they sat, attempting to initiate a conversation.

"No. Father says I shouldn't partake in such a savage sport."

Harry tried again, "Are you into Dueling?" It was his favorite aspect of the Wizarding World, but he doubted Aiden shared the sentiment. He didn't expect it to work on such an seemingly apathetic individual.

He was wrong. How he loved being wrong sometimes.

"I love Dueling!" Aiden exclaimed. "Did you see the last International Dueling Championship?"

"No." was the simple response.

As if not hearing him, Aiden started to babble about all the famous Dueling champions and how they had performed.

"... And Lumari blasts him off the ring with the most awesome _Bombarda _ever!" Aiden summed up.

"That's pretty cool. I have a feeling you're going to kick my ass in dueling class," Harry said in an amused tone. Aiden just grinned in response. "Speaking of class, you do know our Charms teacher was a former dueler? I think he's a five-time Champion."

"Yeah. My father's the Potions Master so I met him earlier on. Nice guy," he said.

"What's your dad like? Is the class going to be a breeze or utter hell?"

Aiden instantly tensed up at the mention of his father. His eyes darted everywhere, as if perhaps the Potions Master was here the entire time.

"He's pretty strict. He has high standards, so don't expect to ace his class easily. He can be nice though, if you meet his standards." Aiden said carefully.

"Damn. He must make you wear a tie to bed, huh?" Harry said jokingly.

Aiden stared blankly for a second as he tried to discern the joke, and then started laughing as he got it. Harry laughed with him for what seemed like an eternity before they stopped.

"You're all right, Aiden." Harry commented.

_**Unholy Flames**_

The two boys exited the compartment. It was odd how different they looked from one another. Harry had rather unruly jet black hair that was only now starting to settle down, while Aiden had naturally straight blonde hair that fell to his shoulders. Harry's wand was made of phoenix feather and cypress wood. Aiden's was made of hydra scale and hawthorn. Harry usually bore a look of complete confidence, bordering arrogance. Aiden had a look of someone who was really bored, but also distressed about something. It was only natural that they became fast friends.

Right now, they were waiting outside the Great Hall to be sorted.

"Shut up, you guys!" a girl with bushy brown hair said. "We put on a freakin' hat to get sorted alright? It's simple! Now shut the hell up!"

"What's her problem?" Harry said, arms crossed. She was insanely loud, and her tone was bossy. People like her made Harry sick to his stomach.

"Who cares?" Aiden mumbled, looking quite green.

Harry looked to him but wisely refrained from commenting. He assumed Aiden's sorting would affect his father's opinion of him quite a bit. Sometimes he wished he had parents. But not parents that judgmental. Absolutely not.

The bushy haired girl approached Harry and demanded "How is it I can still hear music coming from your headphones? Electronics shouldn't work at Hogwarts."

Before he could answer, Professor McGonagall opened the doors to the Great Hall and addressed the school. "Let the sorting begin!"

The sorting went in alphabetical order, and Harry was happy to zone it out, at least until his name was called.

"Potter, Harry."

An ominous quiet settled. Harry glanced lazily at the student body, and sat on the stool as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

"_You're cunning enough to satisfy your needs, you have great ambition, __you would do well in Slytherin. Quite a bit of pride, could be arrogance, you have the potential to be a Gryffindor. You are loyal to only yourself, so no Hufflepuff. You like learning, but you can't stand people acting superior, so no Ravenclaw. Hmm... Gryffindor or -__"_

Harry grew impatient. The hat had spent a while muttering quite loudly as to his characteristics. It was downright rude, accusing, and offensive.

"Sort me, you bloody hat!" he whispered.

"BETTER BE - SLYTHERIN_!"_

The green table to his right broke into applause, the whole lot of them grinning like lunatics. He threw the hat back onto the stool, and walked towards the blue table. People at the Gryffindor stared at him with looks of betrayal, Ravenclaw with mild interest, and Hufflepuff paid him wary looks.

Aiden was sorted into Slytherin as well. Aiden sat next to him, and a pale boy came to them. The boy looked familiar, with his platinum blonde hair and steel grey eyes, but Harry could not discern from where.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a scream. There was a freckled boy with red hair, and he glared coldly at the Sorting Hat. The boy had apparently been mind-raped just like Harry, but the boy must have a temper to attack it so evilly. The boy, who a housemate told him was Ron Weasley, walked to far corner of the Slytherin table, looking down at his plate as if it had ruined his life.

Dumbledore got up at addressed the students: "You know the rules. Please avoid the Forbidden Woods, and the third floor is reserved for Dueling Club, so do not go there for any other reason. On a happier note, let's sing the tune to the Hogwarts song."

Everyone sung at different paces. Harry was startled to see a pair of twins, with the same red hair as Ron Weasley get on the table and start singing a dance club version of the song.

If this was the everyday, he could tell he was going to love this place.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update; had to finish up some midterms for school. The next update will take a little time, because I would like to write longer chapters.

Review at your discretion.


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